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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



The Voice of April-Land 

And Other Poems 



m S ■ o 



The Voice of April-Land 

And Other Poems 
• .-. ; .. " 

BY 

ELLA HIGGINSON 

AUTHOR OF " FROM THE LAND OF THE SNOW PEARLS," ** WHEN 
THE BIRDS GO NORTH AGAIN," " MARIELLA OF OUT- 
WEST," "A FOREST ORCHID," ETC. 



Neto gork 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON : MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. 
1903 

All rights reserved 






Copyright, 1903, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up, elcctrotyped, and published November, 1903. 



JiTortooalr IPrcsg 

J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



!^ 



era 
Elje Pioneers of tlje Wim 

SHoulU ®oU tijat toe, tfjeir cfjilttren, iucre as tljeg ! 

©uat=souUti, ijrabe^eartetr, aniJ of tiautttkss iuill ; 

Eeatfg to Uare, rtsiJonsiije to tijc still, 
CTompclling Mtt tIjat calleU tijem ntgi^t anU Uag 
JFrom tfjts far W&itst toljere sleepins Oreatmss lag ' 

iStUtttg fjet time, W&itml'O ®oU toe kneto tfje tJjrill 

^tat eiquisitclg tormrntclJ tfjent, until 
Cfjcg stoolJ up straits anU resolute to obeg* 

©oJj, ntafte us like tfjent, toortfjg of tljctn ; sfjafee 
©ur souls tottlj great Hesires ; our tJull eges set 

©n some fjigfj star tofjose splenUtti ltgf)t toill toake 
2Es from our breams, anti guilie us from tijis fen 

©f selftsfj ease toon ftg our fatljers' stoeat, 
6fj, lift us up — tfje Smest fjas neeU of Men ! 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

To the Pioneers of the West v 

The Voice of April-land ... ^ ... I 

House-of-the-Stars 3 

The Chinook Wind 5 

The Mother Prays 7 

The Little Girl of Violet-land 9 

Then and Now lO 

" Fare-thee-well" 12 

Love's Trembling-cup 13 

The Message 16 

The Rose 17 

The Wayfarer 18 

March 25 

Surrender in Victory 26 

The Star 29 

In Wake- Robin Land 30 

The Path of Gold 3! 

vii 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

" Then you'll remember me " 32 

The Rose of Day 33 

A Parable 34 

To M. B . . .35 

My Thoughts are Birds 36 

Triolet 37 

Love learns slowly 3^ 

The Guests of the Heart 39 

"To her the Blessed Sleep" 40 

April . 42 

Midwinter Dream 44 

The Blue Sea calls 46 

After Summer Days 48 

Laurels 5^ 

Love-song of the Wanderer 52 

Annie Lisle 54 

The Nights of June 56 

At Midnight Mass ,. '5^ 

The Sweet, Low Speech of the Rain 60 

The House that once was blessed of Thee .... 62 

His Star 63 

" I am so sorry " 65 

The Trembling Heart 66 

viii 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Dawn 68 

The Mirror 69 

Mother's Picture 70 

The Cry of the Drowned 72 

The Darkest Hour 74 

September 75 

The Little Child that went away 76 

Remembrance 78 

The Bad Dandelions 79 

An Easter Love-song 81 

In the Marsh 83 

October 84 

Midnight on Brooklyn Bridge 85 

November S6 

The Little Wave -maidens 87 

Burial 89 

A Mood 90 

The Vision 91 

Forget-me-nots 92 

The Call in the Dark 93 

The Opal-sea 94 

Thanksgiving . . .■ 95 

Riches 96 

iz 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Up, my Heart, and sing 97 

A Threnody 98 

The Fog Horns 99 

Love, the Firefly 100 

" The Pale Green Alder-way " loi 

Betrothal . . . , ' 103 

The Childless Mother's Lullaby 104 

Bloom-time 107 

June Rain 108 

The Sailor's Sweetheart no 

The Still Willamette River 112 

The Watchword of the Stars . .US 

Adoration . . . .116 

The Lady of Poppies 1 19 

Undaunted 121 



The Voice of April-Land 
And Other Poems 



THE VOICE OF APRIL-LAND 

A voice came up thro' the April-land 

And spake a word of the sea ; 
Straight leaped the sap in the alder's veins^ 

Star-flowers blew in the lea; 
The lark's throat ached with his passion-song • 

My heart with the love of thee, 

A voice came up thro' the April-land 

And spake a word of the sea ; 
The humming-bird yearned for the eglantine^ 

For the clover yearned the bee ; 
The wind for the wet lips of the rain — 

My heart for the heart of thee. 




HOUSE-OF-THE-STARS 

HEN I come up the hill at night 

And see my home far, high, aloof, 
All Heaven's stars seem glittering 
Upon its storm-worn roof. 



They outline all the gables steep 
Above the square, unlighted panes, 

And all along the eaves they hang 
In bright and sparkling chains. 

Dear house, thine ugliness by day 
Is turned to beauty overnight. 

And all thy dark, unlovely lines 
Flash into lines of light. 
3 



HOUSE-OF-THE-STARS 

Yea, all about thee, silently. 

When dusk lets down her purple bars. 
The very winds that sweep the hill 

Shake loose the silver stars. 

Far do I wander from thy peace. 

Far from thy simple, sweet content; 

Often in idleness and wrong 
My empty days are spent. 

Yet nightly up the lonely hill, 
Above the town, above the sea, 

I climb with lifted eyes to find 
The stars that shine for me. 

So, though I wander late and far. 

When Death lets down the purple bars, 

Dear God, wilt thou not let me in 
Thine own House-of-the-Stars ? 




THE CHINOOK WIND 

:OME, soft Chinook, and lift thy glowing 
face 
Above the line of yonder fir-crowned hill; 
Free ice-bound meadows, loose the frozen 
rill, 
With thy warm breath and magic touch of grace. 

Oh, dear Chinook, send one long, laughing glance 
Across this glittering stretch of sudden snow ; 
Set grasses greening and the rose ablow. 

Stir purple violets from their fragrant trance. 

Set April's skies in mid-December's world, 
Shake April's laughter, every pulse to thrill, 
Wake silver bird-notes on yon silent hill, 

Let this dull sea with sun-flakes be impearled. 
5 



6 THE CHINOOK WIND 

Come like a maiden, innocent and fair. 
Who lightly with her delicate finger-tips 
Flings tender kisses from her parted lips — 

Kisses that bloom to roses everywhere. 

Come, soft Chinook — for gentle pity's sake ; 
Set young hearts beating, young hearts all aglow, 
Kiss from old veins the frost and ice and snow, - 

And like a silver bugle cry — " Awake ! " 




THE LITTLE GIRL OF VIOLET-LAND 

H, tell me where is the little girl 

With the wind-blown hair and the fragile 
hand, 
Who once in the beautiful days ago 
Dwelt with God in Violet-Land ? 

She talked with Him in her childish speech, 
She walked with Him, and He held her hand ; 

One might have known by her lifted eyes 
That she dwelt with God in Violet-Land. 

But oh, for the word of the baby lips. 
And oh, for the touch of the baby hand ! 

And oh, for the throb of the raptured heart 
Of the little girl in Violet-Land ! 

I stand and look thro' the distance far. 
My eyes grow dim beneath my hand. 

For I seek and call, but I never find, 
The little girl of Violet-Land. 
9 




THEN AND NOW 

THOUGHT I did not care — till you 
were gone, 
And I heard the wind grieving thro' the 
leaves, 
To the plaintive rhythm of the midnight rain 

As it dripped, dripped, dripped, from the time-worn 
eaves. 

The while I danced with tireless feet, and light. 
You held no place within my care-free mind; 

Nor when, upon my dappled mare, I raced. 
Undaunted and triumphant, with the wind. 

For then my very soul was full of life 

That pulsed and throbbed and raced my being 
through, 
And I was all-sufficient to myself — 

Ah, then, I gave no hghtest thought to you ! 



THEN AND NOW ii 

But when I crossed a field one winter*s day 
And heard a slender brook go singing by ; 

When a pale crocus opened by the way, 

A swift sweet memory moved my heart to sigh. 

And when I hear the restless, wind-vex'd leaves 
Grieve to the rhythm of the midnight rain. 

Thro' all my being thrills the vain desire 

To feel your warm, heart-shaken touch again. 




« FARE-THEE-WELL " 

HE never said " good-by,'' but " fare-thee- 
well " — 
" It is a sweeter word," she said ; 
We thought of it with tears that bitter day 
She lay before us dead. 

The eyelids fell and shut the love-light in, 
So constant thro' all gladness and all tears. 

And though we spake so low, it seemed as if 
She smiled, as one that hears. 

The lashes drew a curving shadow on 
The frozen languor of her cheek ; 

And still we listened, for it seemed as if 
The tender lips must speak. 

Yea, though she wore upon her quiet brow 

The pale bloom of the asphodel. 
It seemed as if her sweet, sweet lips must part 

And murmur " fare-thee-well." 




LOVE'S TREMBLING-CUP 

NTO a woman Love one day 
Came jauntily and said : 
" Thou art of haughty mien, but I 
Can lower thy proud head." 



But smiled the woman scornfully : 
" I challenge ; do thy worst ! 

ril drink thy bitterest dreg, and cry 
' I drank thy nectar first ! ' " 

Then to her lips Love held a cup, 
And joy more keen than pain 

Leaped up her pulses to her heart ; 
She drank — and drank again. 

" Drink deep," Love said, half-pityingly ; 

" Poor foolish one, drink deep; 
Then to thy couch — a night comes on 

When thou wilt pray for sleep." 
»3 



LOVE'S TREMBLING-CUP 

For one year and a day she knew 
The rapture of the blest — 

Such ecstasy as Mary thrilled 

When Christ slept on her breast. 

Then came Love to her jauntily, 
And looked into her eyes ; 

" I have another cup for thee ; 
The hour has come — arise ! " 

But smiled the woman scornfully : 

" It is the cup of pain ; 
I drank thy nectar first — and now " 

She proudly drank again. 

" I like thy spirit well," Love said ; 

" Come, keep thy courage up." 
He held before her dauntless eyes 

Still yet another cup, 

And lightly dropped the broken pearl 
Of broken faith ; it sank 



LOVE'S TREMBLING-CUP 15 

And melted in the amber dregs ; 
With pallid lips she drank. 

The look of death grew in her eyes, 

She did not shrink or speak, 
But up the gray of ashes came 

And covered brow and cheek. 

" Now drink," quoth Love, " my bitterest cup, 

The cup of jealousy; 
But first look in its ruby depths. 

And speak. What dost thou see ? " 

She saw another woman's breast 

Pillow his head; and there 
Those sweeter^ younger^ lingering lips 

Pressed kisses on his hair. 

The cup shook on her teeth ; she drank, 
And bowed her head, and cried : 

" Love, ere I drank thy nectar first. 
Would God that I had died ! " 



THE MESSAGE 




HY did I waken suddenly ? 

Did a star fall ? Or, hark ! . 
Did a bird call ? Or did Hope 

Set a lamp in the dark 
To flame full into my eyes 
And signal, — " Awake ! Arise ! 



z6 




THE ROSE 

HE put her arms around Death's neck, 
And leaned upon his breast ; 
For life had not been kind to her, 
And it was sweet to rest. 



" Poor Heart," Death murmured, bearing her 

Upon her lonely quest ; 
"Whence came this red, red rose, whose thorn 

Has pierced thy bleeding breast ? " 

As up the amethystine deeps 

They mounted to the sun. 
She smiled into the eyes of Death : 

" It is my love for one. 

" Has it a thorn ? And do I bleed ? 

I do not know or care " 
(She smiled again) ; " I only know 

That red, red rose is there." 
c 17 




THE WAYFARER 

MET her In a dim sweet wood, 
She reached her lilied arms to me ; 

Her eyes were Hke the stars that shine 
In a full midnight sea. 



Her unbound hair held flecks of gold, 
Like sunlight trembling thro' the leaves 

Her voice was like the wind that steals 
Among the ripened sheaves. 

Her breast was whiter than the snow 
New-fallen on some mountain height 

Where only snows on white snows fall, 
Silently day and night. 

Her garment was of pearly stufF 

That fell about her thin and straight, 
i8 



THE WAYFARER 19 

So thin her lovely limbs shone through, 
Soft, round, and delicate. 

Her waist was circled, girdle-wise. 

With creamy lilies, yellow-tipped ; 
Her breath was as sweet as wall-flowers, 

And she was delicious-lipped. 

" I am that fair Desire," said she, 

" Whom, soon or late, each man must meet " 
(She reached her lilied arms to me); 

" Kiss me, my lips are sweet." 

I kissed her not ; I spoke no word ; 

The night was soft, the hour was late; 
A maid so chaste and perfect must 

Be kept inviolate, 

" Kiss me, my lips are very sweet." . . . 

I trembled, but I spoke no word. 
" My arms are warm." ... I turned away, 

As if I had not heard. 



20 THE WAYFARER 

" My breath is sweeter than clove-pinks; 

And if a kiss be long," she said — 
I waited then to hear no more, 

But thro' the forest fled. 

She followed ; and I felt her breath 
Upon my neck, upon my cheek ; 

And heard her voice entreating me, 
But would not turn nor speak. 

But when her steps fell faint and far 
Behind, so I could scarcely hear, 

And her insistent pleading fell 
No longer on my ear ; 

Ah, then, with passionate longing torn, 
I trembling paused, and listening stood, 

To hear if she still followed me 
Thro' that lone purple wood. 

It seemed I heard the twinflower bells 
Announce the coming of her feet ; 



THE WAYFARER 21 

The very perfume of the musk 
Thro' my full pulses beat. 

The dogwood lit her silver stars 

To light her as she came ; 
The broad reeds whispered j the brook tried 

To falter out her name. 

Something went thro' me wild and sweet — 

All music, perfume, color, fire — 
Sought, found, and thrilled and filled my heart 

Full, full with white Desire. 

(God witness !) Still I tried to turn, 

To flee ere it might be too late ; 
Still said, — "A maid so perfect must 

Be kept inviolate." 

But once again I felt her breath 

Upon my brow, upon my cheek ; 
Her sweetness shook me to the soul, 

I could not move nor speak. 



i THE WAYFARER 

I felt her arms about my neck, 

Her tender warmth within my breast ; 

And then her fragrant, trembling mouth 
Upon my own was pressed. 

(God hear me !) Then I knew no more ; 

My very soul went from me — went 
To lose itself in the soul of her 

In swift, sweet ravishment. 
******* 

The years are long ; and many maids 

Have crossed my life, have touched my heart; 

But in my mem'ry, pure and white, 
That one maid dwells apart. 

Like some clear light that God has lit. 
She shines across my darkest night ; 

Let come the thought of her, and lo ! 
My heart thrills with delight. 

But I shall never see her more, 

Tho' I have sought her far and wide ; 



THE WAYFARER 23 

She is gone utterly, as if 
At my embrace she died. 

Can she be dead ? That lily-maid ? 

In dreams again I hear her call, 
And feel the perfume of her breath 

In petals round me fall. 

And waking eagerly I lean 

To press my cheek deep in her hair. 
Or find the sweetness of her mouth — 

But lo, she is not there ! 

She is not there nor anywhere; 

I know that she will come no more; 
And yet I haunt the dim, sweet wood 

That lies along the shore, 

And listen if I may not hear. 

As once I heard, her far, sweet call, 

Or on the beaten, yellow leaves 
Her coming footsteps fall. 



H 



THE WAYFARER 

Come other maids that bear her name, 
But touched not with her sacred firej 

She was the hoHest of them all — 
My own soul's fair Desire ! 

Too fair for my rough touch, alas ! 

I should have worshipped her afar ; 
Kissed her gown's hem ; and bid her guide 

My footsteps, like a star. 

So fair was she that when the dusk 

Shakes loose the scent of musk and fir, 

Dearer than any living maid 
Is the memory of her. 




MARCH 

EY, alder, hang thy tassels out 
This blue and golden morn ; 
And willow, show thy silver plush, 
Wild grape, thy scarlet thorn ! 



And velvet moss about the trees, 

Lift every russet cup ; 
The dew is coming down this way, 

With pearls to fill them up. 

And birds, why tarry so a-South ? 

Spent is the bitter rain ! 
With messages of love and cheer 

Come North, come North again. 



as 




SURRENDER IN VICTORY 

ORD, we have made an honest fight 
And won the victory ; 
We fought as men who love the right, 
Fiercely and fearlessly ; 
And now we turn aside and give 
Our trembling thanks to Thee, 

Lord, it is not for us to drink 

The salt cup of defeat, 
And victory is glorious, 

And victory is sweet ; 
Yet still we bow our heads and lay 

Our laurels at Thy feet. 

It is not for Americans 

To boast that they have slain 

The heroes who have fought and bled 
For their beloved Spain ; 

26 



SURRENDER IN VICTORY 27 

Nay, — help us to remember, Lord, 
That they have died in vain. 

Not sweet can it be, Lord, to Thee, 

But grievous in Thy sight. 
For nations to rise up in wrath 

And man with man to fight, — 
Each thinking his the only truth, 

And his the only right. 

But, Lord, the need was, and we fought 

Fiercely and fearlessly ; 
And still less sweet would it be now — 

More grievous — unto Thee 
For us to blow the trumpet loud 

In boastful jubilee. 

So check the tumult of our joy, 

And hush the rising cheers ; 
We have the splendid victory, 

And they the blistering tears ; 
For us the laurel wreaths ; for them 

Defeat that burns and sears. 



28 SURRENDER IN VICTORY 

It is the time for thought ; the time 
For noble silence, Lord ; 

To-day the mourning-dove of peace 
Thro' all our land is heard; 

To Thee alone Americans 
Kiss and give up the sv^ord. 




THE STAR 

LOOK across the waste of night ; 

My eyes swim deep in tears ; for there, 
Plain to my sight, tho' bleak and low, 

Lies the deep valley of Despair. 



Must I, too, walk those bitter miles 

To that dark mire rimmed round with stones f 
Must I leave bloodprints on the way. 

And lay my bones with those bleaching bones ? 

I turn and lift my praying eyes 

To the far, sweet deeps of heliotrope, 

And lo ! a star is coming up — 

The beautiful God-sent star of Hope. 



29 




IN WAKE-ROBIN LAND 

HIS is the path to Wake-Robin Land, 

Oh, come, my Dearest, and we will go. 

Like two little children, hand in hand — 

This is the path to Wake-Robin Land ! 

The waves break silver along the sand. 
The air is sweet and the tide is low — 

This is the path to Wake-Robin Land, 
Oh, come, my Dearest, and we will go ! 

Love, let us tarry in Wake-Robin Land, 

Alone with the bird-songs and blossoms and God ; 

'Tis even sweeter than we had planned — 

Love, let us tarry in Wake-Robin Land ! 

Like two little children, hand in hand. 

The sky our tent, and our pillow the sod — 

Love, let us tarry in Wake-Robin Land, 

Alone with the bird-songs and blossoms and God. 
30 




THE PATH OF GOLD 

HE path of gold on the deep blue water 
Trembled across to our very feet, 
And oh, but the wood was pink with roses, 
And oh, but the birds sang loud, sang 
sweet ! 



The path of gold on the deep blue water 
Dimpled and sparkled that August night ; 

We said, — " It begins in love and roses, 
Ends only in heaven's delight." 




"THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 



OU sang . . . The sad years fled like mist, 
The hills were green again, 
The lilies opened snow-white cups 
In every wood and glen. 



You sang . . . The dark to sunlight turned, 

The skies were blue above, 
And every lark across the fields 

Took up the tune of love. 

You sang . . . Our hearts were young again, 
Your notes dropped sweet and slow. 

And each remembered one whose name 
Must now be spoken low. 



3» 




THE ROSE OF DAY 

HE day Is opening like a rose, 

Petal on petal backward curled, 
Till all its beauty burns and glows. 
And all its fragrance is unfurled. 



The day is dying like a rose, 

Soft leaf on leaf dropped down the sky 
To gulfs of beauty where repose 

The souls of exquisite things that die. 



33 




A PARABLE 

HE Night goes down as a new Day comes 
up, 
The face of each lies at the mountain 
rim, 

The whole wide beryl world apart ; the one 
Is flushed and proud — the other wan and dim. 

So Old Age sinks to Life's low horizon, 
While in the east with eager, beating heart, 

Fair Youth comes boldly up. . . . They look across, 
Each at the other — a whole life apart ! 



34 




TO M. B. 

jT may be but a tender little rhyme 
About a cowslip or a violet 
That nestles by a brook, blue-eyed and 
wet ; 
A crimson rose in some far southern clime ; 
A laugh, a song, a merry Christmas chime 

Thrilled thro' and thro' with tears ; ^ pearl regret 
Within a chain of hope's bright rubies set, 
Or it may be a passion grand, sublime. 

But, oh, whate'er it be, sweet singer, sing ! 
As a glad lark across the reeded mere 
Sings for a lonelier one with broken wing, 

And lets his music swell with hope and cheer. 
Sing thou ! For in thy song one ever hears 
Faith and a tremulous laughter thro' thy tears. 



35 



MY THOUGHTS ARE BIRDS 




Y thoughts are birds that haste away to 
thee, 
Winging the miles that hold us now 
apart, 

And then at night, worn out with ecstasy. 
Drift homeward to be hovered in my heart. 



36 




TRIOLET 

EAREST, thy heart beats on my heart, 
Oh, speak and say it is not a dream ! 
Tho' we are these sea-blue miles apart. 
Dearest, thy heart beats on my heart, 
And all its wandering pulses start 

To a thrill of hope and a bliss supreme. 
Dearest, thy heart beats on my heart. 
Oh, speak and say it is not a dream ! 



37 




LOVE LEARNS SLOWLY 

OR just a few brief hours 
Her he forgot ; 
The waves of pain swam round her heart, 
The tears sprang quick and hot j 
And he, amazed, beheld them fall, 
Love learns so slowly, after all ! 

Then — ah, the pity ! — straight 

She spake the bitter word. 
That hurt as she had little dreamed, 

When silently he heard ; 
Fate holds us ever in its thrall, 
And love learns slowly, after all. 



38 




THE GUESTS OF THE HEART 



AID Faith, " Tve made you a visit. 
But now I must go." 
She went with reluctant glances 
And footsteps slow. 

She met at the very threshold 

Pale entering Doubt; 
" Are you coming in," she said, 

" As I go out ? " 

" We cannot visit together," 

Doubt made reply ; 
" The heart that bids me enter. 

Bids you good-by." 



39 




"TO HER THE BLESSED SLEEP" 



HE crocus cups had opened 
Their beauty to the sun, 
The hazels were outhanging 
Their tassels, one by one; 
The violets were blowing. 

The cold, dark days were done. 

The meadow-larks were singing 

That February day. 
Their notes as clear and joyous 

As though the month were May, 
When we went, broken-hearted. 

To bear the child away. 

So we shall always see her 
Among the blooms at rest, 
40 



TO HER THE BLESSED SLEEP 

The peace upon her forehead, 
The violets on her breast; 

And hear about her singing 
The love-larks of the West. 

Yea, tho' our hopes lie buried 
With her low, low and deep. 

This thought shall be our comfort 
The while we sit and weep : 

God gave to us the sorrow, 
To her the blessed sleep. 




APRIL 

EY, pretty maid ! Whence comest thou 
With violets linked about thy brow, 
And zone of buttercups' own gold ? 
The currant blossoms round thee fold 
Their delicate beauty, red and sweet. 
And star-flowers faint beneath thy feet. 

Thou dear coquette ! A tear, a frown, 
Dark lashes drooping shyly down. 
To bid one hope the while he fears. 
Then sudden laughter thro' thy tears ; 
May all thy sweethearts now take care. 
And of thy ravishments beware. 

See how the soft wind kisses thee. 
And how the rough wind misses thee, 

42 



APRIL 

And fruit trees blow and bend and sigh 
When thy glad feet come twinkling by ; 
And thou dost laugh thro' sparkling tears 
And kisses fling at hopes and fears. 

Ah, May is fair, and June is sweet, 
And August comes with loitering feet; 
July's the maid to lie and dream, 
Beside some blue and lilied stream; 
But April's sweetheart never yet 
Could her tear-mingled smiles forget. 



43 




MIDWINTER DREAM 

ID a robin call 
From the alder tall ? 
Oh, listen . . . Hush . . . 
Did I hear a thrush ? 
And the gray wood thro* 
Did I catch the blue 
Of a bluebird's wing 
As he paused to sing? 
(Or do I dream ?) 

Hark, hark ! Did I hear 
From the lonely mere 
That shrill note set 
In the flageolet 
Of the frog ? Did I hear, 
Sweet, fine, and clear, 
From the meadow . . . Hark ! 
44 



MIDWINTER DREAM 45 

The song of the lark ? 
(Or do 1 dream ?) 

And trembling and high 
Did a voice go by, 
Sweet, lyrical, pure, 
With a thrill and a lure ? 
Did it rise and fall, 
Flutelike, and call, 
" Oh, waken and sing, 
I am Spring, I am Spring I " 
(Or do I dream ?) 

And straight did my heart 
From its doubting start 
To flower and sing 
At the will of spring ? 
And I — did I steal 
To the forest and kneel, 
Brow-bent, on the sod 
And give thanks to God ? 
(Or do I dream ?) 




THE BLUE SEA CALLS 

HE days grow long and bright, 
Golden the sunlight falls, 
But, ah, my heart ! from dawn to night 
The blue sea calls. 



The pure and nunlike hills, 
Where snow herself has trod, 

Thro' perfumed air that stirs and thrills, 
Kneel up to God. 

The heights, sublime, afar. 
Have held me in their thrall. 

But 'neath the low, sweet evening star 
The blue waves call. 

I climb with trembling heart, 
Irresolute and slow, 
46 



THE BLUE SEA CALLS 47 

For, ever, that far human voice, 
Pleads from below. 

Oh, calling waves, be still ! 

Plead not, and let me go, 
That I may climb, like yonder hill, 

Up to God's snow. 




AFTER SUMMER DAYS 

WEEPS the rain in a mist 
Of rose and amethyst, 
Up from the purple sea, 
Scented deliciously. 

Trembles the wind's own lure. 
Pleading, passionate, pure. 
Touching the brow and the cheek 
With lips that quiver to speak. 

Up from the pastures push 
The plumes of the steeple-bush, 
To wave and beckon and nod 
To the beautiful crimson-rod. 

Comes the pale, delicate sheen 
Of the awakened green, 
48 



AFTER SUMMER DAYS 49 

The moss to the shaded nook, 

The laugh to the throat of the brook. 

Startles the emerald hush 

With exquisite notes the thrush, 

Liquid, rapturous, clear, 

Straight through the sunset — hear ! 

" Beautiful, beautiful, sweet " — 
Oh, hear the notes repeat ! 
" Beautiful, beautiful, sweet, 
Sweet — sweet — sweet ! " 




LAURELS 

^H, tell me, Sweet, where the laurels grow, 
My heart is eager — I long to go." 
" They grow on the mountain crest," 
she said, 

With trembling lips and drooping head; 
*' But the thorns are deep and the way is steep, 
'Twere better to be content, love-led." 

But he kissed her lips and he left her there, 
Oh, he kissed her lips and her golden hair; 

" I will pluck the laurels," he said, " my Sweet, 
And bring them to lay at my true love's feet;" 

So he breathed a prayer and left her there. 
And climbed the mountain, strong and fleet. 
50 



LAURELS 51 

And the years fled by. With a happy song 
He gathered his laurels, proud and strong ; 

But when he brought them to crown his Sweet, 
There was only a grave at his restless feet; 

And he would cast down his laurel crown 
Could he kiss her heart to a single beat. 




LOVE-SONG OF THE WANDERER 

jHRIST, I have come, and the way has been 
dreary, 
The stones of the mountain, the mire of 
the lea, 

My feet are bleeding, and I am aweary. 
Let me come back to thee ! 

Mine eyes were blinded, and I have been groping 
Far thro' the darkness ; yet pity thou me. 

For ever I have been struggling and hoping 
For the way back to thee. 

Is it too late ? The creeds they were preaching 
Carried me on like the waves of a sea ; 

Let me come back to thy pure simple teaching, 
Let me come back to thee ! 



LOVE-SONG OF THE WANDERER 53 

Lo, at thy door I am kneeling and pleading, 
Hearken, O Christ, to my passionate plea; 

I have come far, and my heart is a-bleeding, 
Let me come back to thee ! 

Let me come In. I will open thy casement 
And sing to the world of thy mercies that be ; 

Lift me, dear Christ, from my deep self-abasement. 
Let me come back to thee ! 

Gone Is the darkness ; the dawn's palest glimmer 

Flashes Its beryl above the dim sea; 
Ere the smooth waves In the sunlight shall shimmer, 

Let me come back to thee ! 

All the night long while others were sleeping. 
No sleep or peace has there been for me ; 

I have been kneeling and praying and weeping, 
Only to come back to thee ! 

Let me come In. Ah, the way has been dreary, 
The stones of the mountain, the mire of the lea; 

My heart Is aching, and I am aweary. 
Longing to be with thee ! 




ANNIE LISLE 

LL that long day of bitter pain 
The sun shone down the hill, 
Above whose crest continually, 

The clouds pushed, white and still. 

But when the dove of twilight came, 
With murmurs soft and deep. 

To gather in her suffering ones 
And brood them all to sleep. 

Oh, then I dreamed I was a child 

Upon my sister's breast. 
Without a longing or desire 

Save for that sheltered rest. 

Oh, was it but a feverish dream 

Beneath the twilight's wing, 

54 



ANNIE LISLE 

Or did I feel her tender arms, 
And did I hear her sing, 

As in the old and innocent years, 
Hovered by twilight's dove. 

She used to sit and sing to me 
The plaintive song I love : 

" Wave, willow ; murmur, waters ; 

Gentle sunbeams, smile; 
Earthly music cannot waken 

Lovely Annie Lisle." 



55 




THE NIGHTS OF JUNE 

^ID you see that ? " said the rose 
To the moon ; 
" No ; a cloud went over my face 
Too soon." 



" What was it you saw ? " to the rose 

Said the moon ; 
(The night was a night of delight j 

The time — was June.) 

The pink rose trembled and hung 

Her head ; 
" I never could gossip of them," 

She said. 

" But only watch," said the rose 
To the moon, 
56 



THE NIGHTS OF JUNE 57 

" When the cloud has gone by ! " . . . The wind 
Hummed a tune. 

" God bless the cloud ! " said the man 

To the maid, 
As they paused alone by the rose 

In the shade. 

" Oh, hush — here's a rose," cried the maid 

To the man ; 
" It might see and hear ! Do you think 

It can ? " 

(Oh, the nights and the dear delights 

Of June!) 
*' Did you see that ? " called the rose 

To the moon. 




AT MIDNIGHT MASS 
{^She Kneels) 

ORD, Lord, I cannot speak the prayer 
That aches within my heart, 
But oh. Thou knowest the agony 
From which these large tears start ! 



About me kneel the praying ones. 

The fervent, the devout ; 
Yea, from Thy mercy and Thy love 

I, only, am shut out ! 

Through trembling fingers, one by one, 

The consecrated beads 
Slip slowly, as the passion mounts 

From some poor heart that bleeds. 
58 



AT MIDNIGHT MASS 

But since I cannot speak that prayer 
So even Thou mayest hear, 

Lord, Lord, wilt Thou not consecrate 
Each bitter, falling tear, 

And set it in a rosary 

Of liquid, holy beads. 
So every one that falls may be 

A passionate cry that pleads ? 



59 




THE SWEET, LOW SPEECH OF THE RAIN 

T is pleasant to lie in the gloaming 
When the autumn is on the wane, 

And the careful, rejoicing reaper 
Has gathered and stored his grain. 

And hear at the doors and the windows 
The sweet, low speech of the rain. 

To put by the thought of the sailor 
Far out on the storm-rocked main. 

Where the fierce waves leap and struggle 
Like beasts in passionate pain. 

And lie by the hearth and listen 

To the sweet, low speech of the rain. 

Ah, May has the burst of the blossom, 

And the red of the willow vein. 
And the glad uplift of the flowers 

That lead in the fragrant train ; 
60 



THE SWEET, LOW SPEECH OF THE RAIN 6i 

But nothing so dear as the sweet, low 
Speech of the autumn rain. 

July has the rose and the purple, 

And the sunset's golden stain 
On the river that draws thro' the valley 

A glittering, wave-linked chain ; 
But never this lyrical, tremulous. 

Sweet, low speech of the rain. 

Each heart knows the joy of the winter, 
The drift of the snow on the plain. 

The book and the charm of the fireside, 
The icicles fringing the pane ; 

But ah, for the faltering, pausing, 
Sweet, low speech of the rain. 

Old friends of my heart come to-morrow. 
Remembrance, Regret, and Pain, 

But to-night I will lie in the gloaming 
And be lulled by the lure of the rain — 

By the rhythmical, lyrical, rhyming. 
Sweet, low speech of the rain. 




THE HOUSE THAT ONCE WAS BLESSED 
OF THEE 

^S this the house that once was blessed of 
thee ? 
I know the pattern of the papered walls, 
And how this window opens on the sea; 
Familiar is the shape of rooms and halls ; 
The latches to my touch yield readily ; 

I know the gold that from the sunset falls 
Athwart the sunken floor ; and can it be 

I know the bird of storm that shrilly calls 
From yonder crystal-beaded wave ? ... Is this 
The porch where, on a perfume-shaken night, 
We watched the moon rise, languorous and white, 
Thro' purple passion stars of clematis — 

When first I yielded to love's strong delight 
And trembled to thy arms, thy breast, thy kiss ? 

6a 




HIS STAR 

HE ship swings out ; the Captain stands 

Straight and strong in his place ; 
There are glorious things to leave behind, 

More glorious ones to face ; 
His cheek is pale, his brow is calm, 

His lips are close and stern ; 
And in his eyes, like beacon lights. 

The fires of Courage burn. 



" Now Captain, steer thou carefully — 

Brave heart and steady hand ; 
Charybdis sly and Scylla bleak, 

Luring and threatening stand I " 
But answer makes he none; his hold 

Is firm upon the helm, 
And not a sea that rocks the world 

That noble ship could whelm, 
63 



64 HIS STAR 

" Captain, beware the rocks ! Beware! 

Steer for the open more ! " , . . 
" Nay, Captain, fierce the gale outside ! 

Run closer to the shore ! " 
Still, still they cry ; he answers not ', 

Heavy and dark the night ; 
But lo ! within the troubled East 

A star is rising bright. 

" Captain, I know the course ! Trust me,' 

One pilot makes appeal ; 
" Nay, nay," another boldly cries, 

" Captain, give me the wheel ! " 
The Captain neither heeds nor hears, 

His gaze is set afar. 
As bravely, calmly, dauntlessly. 

He follows one white star. 




"I AM SO SORRY" 

CHILD came to her father yesterday, 
Wet-eyed and trembling-lipped, yet un- 
afraid. 
And pardon for some wrong deed sweetly 
prayed. 
" I am so sorry," low we heard her say ; 
" Father, I did not mean to disobey." 

Quickly the sorrowful father bent and smiled, 
And drew her to his breast. Then, reconciled, 
The little girl went singing on her way. 
So, dearest Father, I — so old in years. 
And yet a child in that I blindly do 
Wrong deeds that hurt and grieve you every day. 
Come, unafraid, yet trembling and in tears . . . 

" I am so sorry I have troubled you, 
Father, I did not mean to disobey." 



65 




THE TREMBLING HEART 

LIFT my head and walk my ways 
Before the world without a tear, 
And bravely unto those I meet 

I smile a message of good cheer ; 
I give my lips to laugh and song, 

And somehow get me through each day ; 
But oh, the tremble in my heart 
Since she has gone away ! 

Her feet had known the stinging thorns. 

Her eyes the blistering tears ; 
Bent were her shoulders with the weight 

And sorrow of the years ; 
The lines were deep upon her brow, 

Her hair was thin and gray ; 
And oh, the tremble in my heart 

Since she has gone away ! 
66 



THE TREMBLING HEART e^ 

I am not sorry ; I am glad ; 

I would not have her here again ; 
God gave her strength life's bitter cup 

Unto the bitterest dreg to drain ; 
I will not have less strength than she, 

I proudly tread my stony way; 
But oh, the tremble in my heart 

Since she has gone away ! 




DAWN 

>HE soft-toned clock upon the stair chimed 
three — 
Too sweet for sleep, too early yet to 
rise ! 

In raptured peace I lay with half-closed eyes 
Watching the tender hours go silently ; 
The tide was coming in, I heard the sea 
Shiver along the beach, while yet the skies 
Were faintly lavender, as the light that lies 
Beneath the fretwork of a wild rose tree 

Within a thicket gray. The chanticleer 
Sent drowsy calls across the slumberous air; 

In this half-silence sweet it was to hear 
My own heart beat . . . Then broad and golden-fair, 
Trembling across the mountain and the plain, 
One radiant glow of dawn burst thro' my pane. 



68 




THE MIRROR 

THOUGHT I saw Deception in thine 

eyes ashine ; 
Was it but her reflection imaged deep from 

mine ? 



69 




MOTHER'S PICTURE 

jAUGHING, a child, she danced before it; 
" It's mamma," she shouted, " why, 
don't you see ? 
I thought you would know the very first 
minute — 
Why, every one says she looks like me ! " 

Smiling, a maiden, she stood before it; 

" It's mamma," she said, and her voice was low ; 
" The eyes and the brow, and even the dimple, 

Are so like mine ; I thought you would know." 

Gravely, a woman, she stood before it ; 

"It's mother," she said, and her words were slow; 
" The lines of care and the eyes of sorrow 

Are like my own ; I thought you would know." 

70 



MOTHER'S PICTURE 71 

An old, old woman, she stood before it, 
Her step was feeble, her words were low ; 

" Oh, mother," she said," thou hast crossed the river, 
Thro' the lone dark valley where I must go ; 

Hold close my hand for the way is so lonely j 
Is my soul like thine ? And will they know ? " 



THE CRY OF THE DROWNED 






AM dead, dead, 
y Down under the sea at rest ! 
I am drowned, drowned, 

The waves press hard on my breast ! 
And curious eyes stare long at me, 
And all the fishes wonder at me, 
And horrible things crawl over me. 
Under the sea, dead. 



I am dead, dead. 

And the ships sail over my head ! 
I am drowned, drowned. 

They sail over my deep, still bed ! 
And old, sweet faces look down at me. 
And old, glad voices float over me. 
And loved hands ever beckon to me, 

Under the sea, dead ! 
72' 



THE CRY OF THE DROWNED 73 

I am dead, dead, 

They cannot see me that look ! 
I am drowned, drowned. 

My life is a closed book ! 
And those above see only the waves. 
Nor ever think how each one laves 
The broken hearts in the lonely graves, 

Under the sea, dead. 

I am dead, dead. 

But oh, this deathless soul ! 
Though I am drowned, drowned, 

It sees thro' the waves that roll. 
The thoughts that no longer turn to me. 
And the lips that no longer yearn for me, 
And the hearts that no longer burn for me. 

How bitter to be dead ! 




THE DARKEST HOUR 

>HE darkest hour is just before the dawn ; 
Turn from the deep, black valley of 

Despair, 
And see the roses blooming every- 
where. 
In the lowliest spot as on the nurtured lawn. 

There, shuddering in the wood the sweet-eyed fawn. 
Crouching until the storm has spent its force, 
Then with new courage leaping on its course ; 

So, when the darkest hour has passed, the dawn ! 

O Hope, thou shalt not die till life be gone ! 
For he who fights, whatever fate befall, 
Let him be true, and he will conquer all ; 

The darkest hour is just before the dawn. 



74 




SEPTEMBER 

URPLE and gold and crimson. 

Lavender, rose, and green, 
With luminous rays of opal 

Trembling in between ; 
And gold dust sifted over all 

From heaven's curving screen. 



75 




THE LITTLE CHILD THAT WENT AWAY 

HE little, little child that went away 

From us that loved him, us that miss 
him so — 
God, fold him warmly in thy tender arms 
These bitter nights beneath the snow. 

Years pass us by ; sometimes we half forget 
The little lad who went so long ago ; 

But with the first sob of the winter's rain, 
And with the first fall of the snow. 

Oh, then, oh, then we bow ourselves and weep, 
The old grief fresh ; it seems but yesterday 

We knelt in tears to kiss the little lad 
Good-by, and let him go away. 
76 



THE LITTLE CHILD THAT WENT AWAY -j-j 

The summer lures us ; lo ! the slender brook 
Winds thro' the valley, noted like a song ; 

When trees are budding and the flowers bloom, 
Oh, then we cannot sorrow long. 

But when the winter huddles from the North, 
And drives the sudden snow across the plain, 

When long icicles fringe the eaves, and loud 
The wind is moaning at the pane. 

We look thro' tears across the night and see 
The little grave so slender and so low. . . , 

God, fold him warmly in thy tender arms 
These bitter nights beneath the snow. 




REMEMBRANCE 

^pHE hours of light grow longer, 
Briefer the hours of dusk, 
In marshes soon will open 

The green leaves of the musk. 

The frog in cool wet hollows 
His notes will murmur long, 

The thrush thro' leafing branches 
Will pour his golden song. 

The grass will spring and freshen 
The hillside as of old, 

And all the fields will yellow 
With dandelion's gold. 

Yea, all the earth's rich places 
To sweet, new joys will start ; 

But oh, the bleak and barren 
Waste places of the heart ! 

78 




THE BAD DANDELIONS 

MILLION dandelions 
Came out one April day, 

And rambled up and down the hill 
To laugh and play. 



They shook their golden tresses, 
And flung their kisses free. 

And flirted with the sun and wind 
Outrageously. 

They were so much admired. 
They were so rich in gold. 

They flaunted up and down the hill, 
So proud and bold, 

That the envious swamp-cabbage, 
That poor old " touch-me-not," 
• 79 



8o THE BAD DANDELIONS 

So sour and discontented with 
Her lowly lot, 

Held up a flaming candle, 
To peep and watch and spy, 

And all who understood her speech 
Could hear her cry : — 

" There'll come a retribution, 
'Twill shock the very town ; 

Your pride will blow your boasted gold 
To common silver ' down ' ! " 

But the saucy dandelions 
Fled laughing up the hill, 

And, it is said in Plower-Land, 
They're laughing still. 




AN EASTER LOVE-SONG 

(^He sings) 

EAREST, it is the Easter-time, 
The love-time of the year, 
And every little bird in rhyme 

Is telling far and near 
His passion to his listening mate 
Shall I alone, then, fear ? 



Nay . . . When the salmonberry shows 

Its crimson, veiny bells. 
And when the shadbush whitely blows 

In lonely forest dells. 
May I not tell my love in rhyme, 

As his the robin tells ? 

When up the full veins of the pine 
The saps push lustily, 

G 8l 



82 AN EASTER LOVE-SONG 

And blossoms star the twinflower vine 

Around each mossy tree, 
And wandering silver seabirds mate 

In hollows of the sea j 

When the last flufFy snowbird goes 
The way that winter went, 

And the thorn is scarlet on the rose, 
And the willow's silver spent, 

And here and there and everywhere 
Is blown the violet's scent. 

Then haply may I courage take. 
By love and hope made strong. 

And pray thee, dearest, to awake. 
When the night is sweet and long, 

And whitely from thy casement lean, 
To hear my trembling song. 




IN THE MARSH 

KNOW a dim marsh place where tules 
grow, 
And mosses cling about the water's 
edge; 

The tremulous borders deepen, sedge on sedge, 
And winds steal thro' them, murmurous and slow; 
The dogwood's winged blossoms bend and glow 
Like falling stars above the luminous pool — 
How soft they are ! How velvetlike and cool ! 
Here noiseless serpents, sliding, come and go, 
Parting the grasses with a flash of gold. 

The folded water lilies lie asleep. 
In shallow cradles, to the drowsy croon 
Of sensuous bees. It is the highest noon. 

Yet all so still the frogs with murmurings deep 
Make vocal marsh and wood and summer wold. 

83 




OCTOBER 

CTOBER walks these beautiful days 
In a pale, pale lavender gown, 
Slashed with the russet of dying leaves 
And bordered with silver down. 



Her head is bended, her bronzy hair 
Is wind-blown over her eyes, 

And the mantle twisted about her brow 
Is woven of rosy dyes. 

Her lips are sad with a mute farewell, 
As she looks in the eyes of the year. 

As two that love, yet meet to part 
Without a word or a tear. 

She carries an acorn rosary. 

And when each bead has been kissed, 
She draws her draperies round her, 

And vanishes thro' the mist. 
84 




MIDNIGHT ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE 

H, me ! I know how large and cool and 
white 
The moon lies on the brow of Sehome 
Hill, 

And how the firs stand shadowy and still, 
Etched on that luminous background this soft night ; 
How the nighthawk sinks from his starry height. 
And breathes his one note, mournfully and shrill. 
And crickets clamor in the marsh until 
The dusk grows vocal with their deep delight. 



City, a lifetime spent in thee were not 
Worth one night in my western solitude ! 

Thy pulse is feverish, thy blood is hot. 

Thine arteries throb with passion heavily ; 
But oh, how sweet I hear, in interlude, 

The beating, moon-lured tides of Puget Sea. 

85 




NOVEMBER 

OW comes that marvellous splendor of the 
air 
That brings a sudden glow to languid 
eyes, 
And that rich topaz flushing of the skies 
That sets dull pulses thrilling. Wide and bare 
Lie the shorn hop fields ; and the pink mists loom 
Upon the swelling bosom of the sea, 
Till touched with sunset's luminous mystery 
They seem far fields of oleander bloom. 

At dark the Fog arises, pale and still, 

And spreads her draperies, glistening and white, 
Upon the shivering body of the night. 

But draws them back at dawn about the hill ; 
While pushes upward through the silver hush 
The enraptured lyric of the sunrise thrush. 
86 




THE LITTLE WAVE-MAIDENS 



HE little waves came stepping 
And courtesying up the sand, 
Like bashful maidens holding 
Each other by the hand. 



They wore deep azure dresses, 
And ribbons in their curls, 

And every neck was circled 
With tiny, precious pearls. 

All day they played and chattered, 
With laughter sweet and low ; 

But when the sunset beckoned. 
They all made haste to go. 

" Now fare-thee-well, we're going," 
They sweetly called to me, 
87 



88 THE LITTLE WAVE-MAIDENS 

And hand in hand went singing 
Back to the purple sea. 

But all across the acres 

Of tidelands brown and bare, 

They dropped the pale blue ribbons 
Out of their wind-blown hair. 




BURIAL 

SHES to ashes and dust to dust," 
We laid our love away ; 
For who would keep a thing that could 
Not bear the light of day ? 



But when the little grave was made, 

And headed with a stone, 
God knows the tears that we two shed, 

Each in his heart, alone. 



89 



</^'^tt%fT 



A MOOD 

T must be sweet to be a dog ; 
J To have no longing, no desire, 

For aught save food, the sun and wind, 
The cheerful fire. 



To love one master, serve him well ; 

Be kicked, abused, left bleeding, sore; 
Then at his call to leap for joy. 

And love him more ! 

To eat crumbs, and be satisfied ; 

To lie and moan outside his door. 
In torment till he open it. 

Then, love him more ! 

To tremble at his slightest frown ; 

To shiver for pardon at his feet ; 
Forgiven, to thrill with ecstasy ; 

It must be sweet ! 

90 




THE VISION 

J HE gay room fades ... I see a little child 
Kneel in the purple gloaming by her bed, 
The moon's pale kisses trembling on her 
head. 

How pure she is, how white and undefiled ! 
I hear her breathe, " Our Father," soft and low ; 
I see the rapt look in her lifted eyes ; 
(Ah, me ! What would the old in creeds and wise 
Not yield that raptured confidence to know ! ) 
"Lead us not into" . . . " Hallowed be thy name" . . . 
The hurt comes to the throat ; and to the heart 
The bitter ache for all the wasted years. 
This little kneeling child, is she the same 

That once I knew ? The sudden, blinding smart 
Springs to my eyes. . . . The vision blurs in 
tears. 

91 




FORGET-ME-NOTS 

LITTLE cloud of blue came out 

And settled on the sod ; 
And one cried, " Oh, forget-me-nots ! " 

One bowed and murmured, " God." 



9* 




THE CALL IN THE DARK 

VOICE went by in the dark 

Crying, " Follow, follow me ! " 

I strained my eyes, but alas ! 
I could not see. 

But the voice plead in the dark, 
" Thou knewest me in thy youth, 

Hast thou forgotten me now ? 
My name is Truth." 



93 




THE OPAL-SEA 

jREAT wave on wave of rosy-misted gold, 
Outstretched beneath an opalescent sky, 
Wherein soft tints with glowing splen- 
dors vie ; 

From far dim ocean distances are rolled 
Sweet perfumes by the sea-wind strong and cold ; 
Here white sails gleam and light cloud-shadows lie, 
And isles are kissed by winds that wanton by, 
Or rocked by storms in unchecked passion bold. 

Locked in by swelling, fir-clad hills it lies 
One sweep of undulating gold j serene. 

It shines and reaches under sunset skies ; 

The chaste Olympics pearl the space between 

Till, burning in that splendid fire, they make 

Fit setting for this peerless ocean-lake. 

94 




THANKSGIVING 

HAT does this woman thank God for? 
The other women said, 
Looking on one who knelt apart 
With lifted head. 



" What is this marvellous ecstasy 

That shines within her eyes ? 
Has she more rapturous joy than we ? 

Is she more wise ? " 

The woman heeded not ; she kissed 

The beads of her rosary ; 
And last she kissed the cross, and said, 

" God, I thank Thee ! ' 

" None knoweth why I thank Thee, God, 
Save Thou — Thou who art wise ! " . . 

The light grew on her face ; she smiled 
Into God's eyes. 

95 




RICHES 

HE far sweet rosy distances, 

The snow peaks lone and high. 
The sweep of softer hill, the firs 
That climb and touch the sky ; 

The rippling laughter of a brook, 

A flower-scented rain, 
A drench of liquid gold let loose 

At sunset on my pane ; 

The purple splendor of the night 

Wherein Orion's three 
Flash constant messages ; the frog 

That murmurs to the lea ; 

The wash of waves, the song of birds. 

The red fall of a star, 
The pale green mist upon the sea, — 

These all my riches are. 
96 




UP, MY HEART, AND SING 

HE dark, dark night is gone, 
The lark is on the wing, 
From bleak and barren fields he soars, 
Eternal hope to sing. 



And shall I be less brave 

Than yon sweet lyric thing ? 

From deeps of failure and despair, 
Up, up, my heart, and sing ! 

The dark, dark year is gone ; 

The red blood of the spring 
Will quicken Nature's pulses soon, 

So up, my heart, and sing ! 



97 




A THRENODY 

HE golden days are waning, 
And far away the skies are gray, 
To-morrow it may be raining. 
{Sing^ bird in the alder /) 



The night comes soon and dreary ; 
Above the town the hills are brown, 
And the heart is lone and weary. 
{Singy bird in the alder /) 

Ah, me, but the hours are lonely ! 
I bow and weep . . . Awake, asleep, 
I want thee and thee only. 
iSing^ bird in the alder /) 



98 




THE FOG HORNS 

(//> speaks) 

HE fog broods on the city white and chill, 
Its tiny needles stinging keen like hail ; 
Across the sea, beyond the barren hill, 
Continually the fog horns shrill and wail. 



A tree climbs like a ghost from out the gloom, 
Groping for sunlight with bare, skeleton hands ; 

And underneath, the fires of death and doom 
Within her eyes, a gray-faced woman stands. 

O my beloved ! in this strange, north place 
Rush back old days that are forever new ! 

These shrill fog horns and this poor, haggard face 
Remind by contrast of the June and you. 



ILof 



99 




LOVE, THE FIREFLY 

TILL, still I see the fireflies 
Wandering thro' the dusk, 
And the music falls about us, 
Like petals of rich musk. 

" Ah, love is but a firefly," 
The voice of the viol plead ; 

" A scarlet, wandering firefly, 
By every fancy led." 




"THE PALE GREEN ALDER-WAY" 

H, May comes merrily o'er the hill 
And passes with twinkling feet, 
With invitation in beck and glance, 
And lure in her laughter sweet ; 
But I look down the pale green alder-way, 
And " He never will come again," I say. 

At morn the red-vested robin calls 
His love to his shy brown mate. 

And half forgetting, I thrill to hear 
The speech of the little gate ; 

Then I look down the pale green alder-way. 

And " He never will come again," I say. 

And when the hush of the golden noon 
Swims up to the deep blue sky, 

lOI 



I02 *'THE PALE GREEN ALDER-WAV 

My poor heart leaps with the old delight 

If only a step comes nigh ; 
But I look down the pale green alder-way, 
And " He never will come again," I say. 

When evening purples the distant hills, 

And none but the stars may see, 
I kneel me here, while the hours go by, 

Slowly and silently, 
And "Ah, up the pale green alder-way 
If he only might come again ! " I pray. 

O pipes of summer and flutes of spring ! 

O bird and blossom and brook ! 
My heart responds to thy lure and call, 

Then sadly I turn and look 
Down the path where the pale green alders grow, 
For he never will come again, I know. 




BETROTHAL 

ONG had we pleasant comrades been, 
And loved each other well ; 
Yet never had a traitor glance 
The secret dared to tell. 



And when that first sweet night we stood — 
That rose-sweet night in June — 

Alone, and watched the herald clouds 
Outride the languid moon, 

Yea, even then we did not guess, 

But stood entranced, apart, 
Until the silence suddenly 

Beat with God's mighty heart. 

And then — we know not how it was — 

We trembled, each to each. 
And kissed, . . . and all our pulses thrilled 

Too holily for speech. 
103 




THE CHILDLESS MOTHER'S LULLABY 

[H, many's the time in the evening 

When the Hght has fled over the sea, 
That I dream alone in the gloaming 
Of the joys that are not for me i 
And oft in my sorrowful bosom 

Swells up the mother-love flame, 
And I clasp with arms that are trembling 

My child that never came; 
Singing, — " Hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ dar- 
ling. 
Nestle thee deeper in mother's breast. 
Oh, hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by, darling, 
Tenderest angels will guard thy rest'' 

The candles far down in the city 

Shine out thro' the purplish gray, 
And the stars come out in the heavens 

And glimmer across the bay; 

104 



THE CHILDLESS MOTHER'S LULLABY 105 

The murmuring waves steal homeward 

From the ocean's larger blue, 
As I dream alone in the gloaming 

Of the child that I never knew ; 
Singing, — " Hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ dar- 
lings 

Nestle thee deeper in mother's breast^ 
Oh^ hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ darlings 

Tenderest angels will guard thy rest,'' 

Oh, the little warm cheek in my bosom. 

Oh, the little wet lips at the breast. 
Oh, the clinging, wee, satiny fingers 

To my longing lips that are pressed ! 
There was never a song that was sweeter, 

Tho' its singer be laurelled with fame. 
Than the song that I sing in the gloaming 

To the child that never came : 
" Oh^ hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ darlings 

Nestle thee deeper in mother's breast^ 
Oh^ hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ darlings 

Tenderest angels will guard thy rest." 



io6 THE CHILDLESS MOTHER'S LULLABY 

The hours swim on to the midnight, 

The moon looks over the hill. 
And the u-lu-lu of the night owl 

Sinks mournfully and shrill; 
The solitude aches with rapture, 

And my heart with the mother-love flame. 
As I sing alone in the gloaming 

To the child that never came : 
" Oh^ hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ darlings 

Nestle thee deeper in mother's breast^ 
Oh^ hush thee — hush thee — hush-a-by^ darlings 

Tender est angels will guard thy rest" 



">-. ■^^•/;V 




BLOOM-TIME 

HE silver buds are on the fir, 
The sweet is on the balm, 
The orchards blossom white and slow, 
And thro' the scented calm 
The wild thrush-poet lifts to God 
His pure and lyric psalm. 

The dogwood hangs her velvet stars 

The alder deeps within, 
A brook draws down the forest ways 

Its laughter, sweet and thin. 
And woodland minstrels blithely play 

Flute, pipe, and violin. 

It is the perfect blossom time, 
The bloom of heart and year, 

The earth aches with its rapture song. 
The wind-bells sweet and clear 

Ring one low word that every heart 
Throbs full and strong to hear. 
107 




JUNE RAIN 

lUNE, 

And a new moon 

Flying the west, like a golden dove, 
Thro' the clouds that swim, 
Wraithlike and dim, 

The sleeping amethyst sea above ; 
The deep red rose 
Thro' the dusk that glows, 

With tremulous petals wide outspread. 
And shakes perfume 
Thro' the unlit room, 

Where Sorrow sits with drooping head ; 
The pale soft kiss 
Of the clematis 

On the pane . . . Later, the rain ; 
Musical, light, 

xo8 



JUNE RAIN 109 

Thro* the long, sweet night, 

The sorrow-hushing rain ! 
Oh, heart that aches, 
And heart that breaks, 

And heart that is torn with wild regret, 
Take cheer again 
In thy bitter pain, 

There is hope for the sorriest hearted yet; 
While speaks the rain 
At the door and pane. 

And to passionate plaining murmurs, — " Hush!" 
While its soft notes sigh 
Like a lullaby 

" Hush thee, hush thee — hush — hush ! " 




THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEARr 



WEE THEAR T, Sweetheart^ Sweetheart ! " 

Calleth the meadow-lark 
Thro' the rose of dawn to me 
Dreaming beside the sea; 

Oh, Hsten — oh, hark! 
How joyously, liquidly clear 
Over the meadows, I hear, — 

" Sweetheart^ Sweetheart^ Sweetheart ! " 



And I think of my dearest across the sea, 
The blue, blue sea that holds us apart ; 

It is his own voice that calls to me 
In the voice of the lark, — 

" Sweetheart^ Sweetheart ! 

" Sadheart^ Sadheart, Sadheart ! " 
Calleth the meadow-lark 



THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART iii 

Thro' the gray of dawn to me 
Grieving beside the sea ; 

Oh, listen — oh, hark ! 
How tenderly, mournfully clear, 
Over the meadows, I hear, — 

" Sadheart^ Sadheart^ Sadheart / " 

And I think of my dearest beneath the sea, 
The sea that holds us forever apart ; 

It is his own voice that grieves to me 
In the voice of the lark, — 

" Sadheart^ Sadheart ! *' 




THE STILL WILLAMETTE RIVER 

H, would that we might hear again 
The balm leaves faintly shiver, 
As on that night we drifted down 
The still Willamette River ! 
The lilies rocked upon the waves, 
The fragrant trees leaned over. 
The happy winds blew sw^et, blew low, 
Along the banks of clover. 

The river moved as if asleep, 

The stars slipped down and sparkled 
About us, while our idle oars 

Scarce touched the waves that darkled ; 
The fireflies upon the bank 

Set all their lamps a-glowing. 
And when we passed a dogwood tree. 

Its pale soft blooms were snowing. 



THE STILL WILLAMETTE RIVER 113 

Those scented flakes of summer snow 

Fell to the cool dark water, 
The while a thrush sang clear and low 

Love notes her mate had taught her; 
In far-ofF marshy fields we heard 

The crickets shrilly fluting, 
And on the narrow bending reeds 

The low-lipped waters luting. 

Ah, then, we almost heard the sea, 

We felt its restless beating. 
And oh, your tender eyes grew sad 

With every moment fleeting; 
Into the sky we saw one flush 

Of crimson dawnlight quiver. 
The last star fell to fade and die 

In the Willamette River. 

Ah, would that we might hear again 

The balm leaves faintly shiver, 
Where, glimmering, darkling, to the sea, 

The waves flow on forever; 



114 THE STILL WILLAMETTE RIVER 

And would that we might drift to-night 
Where bright stars fall and quiver. 

And folded lilies lie asleep 
On the Willamette River. 




THE WATCHWORD OF THE STARS 



IGHT — and the cool soft air 

And the murmurous sleep of the sea ; 
And moving up the purple East 
Orion's splendid three. 



Night — and the silentness, 
And the shadow-brooding lea ; 

And moving thro' the mellow South 
Orion's constant three. 

Night — and the loneliness, 

And the eyes that wake and weep ; 
But calm and patient in the West 

The stars that never sleep. 

What is your watchword, stars ? 

Tell me, Orion's three ! 
What is your message ? . . . Love, 

Patience and Constancy ? 
115 




ADORATION 

iPRING up the East, O sun, 
O mist, forsake the sea ! 
Shine, fir trees, every one. 
With sudden radiancy ! 
Ye meadow-larks, sing clear. 
Across the rippled mere. 

And thro' thy golden-noted song shake all thine 
ecstasy. 

Break, clouds, and whitely drift. 
Blow, shadbush, by the creek ; 
Wild currant blossom, lift 

Thy soft and crimson cheek ; 
In places dark and damp. 
Oh, light thy yellow lamp. 

Thou faithful dandehon, like a virgin pure and 
meek. 

ii6 



ADORATION 117 

Leap down thy pebbly bed, 

Thou wild, sweet, singing stream ; 
Pale lily, rear thy head 

From adoration's dream, 
And in thy perfect cup 
Burn all thy perfume up. 

And lift its incense unto God in ravishment 
supreme. 

The long, dark night is gone ; 

Awake, O Earth, awake ! 
Behold the splendid dawn 

Above the mountains break. 
The golds and crimsons run, 
Like heralds of the sun. 

To blow long bugle-rays of light to valley, sea, and 
lake. 

Yea, forest, hill, and sea. 

With rapturous passion ring; 
Then, oh, thou soul of me, 

Awake, arise, and sing ! 



ii8 ADORATION 

These notes the larks upraise 
Mount clear and high in praise ; 

Then, oh, my soul, awake and soar to heaven's 
gate and sing ! 




THE LADY OF POPPIES 

EAR Lady of Poppies, take my hand, 
And lead me down to the Opal Sea, 
Where lolls a boat on the languid tide, 
The lifting, lilting, loitering tide, 
Waiting for thee and me. 



Dear Lady of Poppies, loose the sail. 

Our course to the purple West is set. 
And we are ofF for the beautiful isle. 
The dreamy, mystical, marvellous isle, 
Where the sorrowful go to forget. 

Dear Lady of Poppies, the wind is fair. 

The beryl water is cool and deep. 
And this boat that silverly rises and falls. 
That rocks and trembles and lifts and falls, 
Surely its name is Sleep ! 



I20 THE LADY OF POPPIES 

And far away, thro' the purple mist, 

The pearly shore of an island gleams, 
Of an island kissed by the lips of the sea, 
By the cool, soft, pleading lips of the sea, 
The mystical island of Dreams. 




UNDAUNTED 

>HERE is a wind comes at the midnight 
hour 
Down this bleak canyon deep withia 
the hills, 

So wild, so weird, so strong, it stirs and thrills 
My soul, till it is like a shaken flower, 
Close-nunneried in some dim old forest bower, 
That pulls at its earth-roots to leap and go 
Out on the mighty air-tide's ebb and flow — 
What time the heavy rain clouds darkling lower. 

Ah, to ride out on such a wind as this, 

Gripped to Death's breast, upon his pallid steed, 
Without an instant's warning or farewell ! 
To press his lips in one long dauntless kiss. 
And shudder not in any coward creed. 

But face what 1 deserve, be it heaven or hell. 



Otu of the best Western novels ever puhlished.^* 

— Newsletter, San Francisco. 



MARIELLA, OF OUT=WEST 

By Mrs. ELLA HIQQINSON 

AUTHOR OF 

" Prom the Land of the Snow Pearls " 

"A Forest Orchid and Other Stories" 

*' When the Birds go North Again *' 

" The picture is clear, well balanced, and informing, and best of all, 
the story is at all times the prime aiTair, and . . . becomes more 
condensed, pungent, and direct, and in every way more absorbirig 
and vital." — Boston Herald. 

"One of the strongest of recent American novels." — Boston Transcript, 

"An extraordinarily vivid and forceful piece of work." 

— Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 

"It is told with such grim fidelity that at times it fairly clutches the 
heart. . . . The story while touching is never depressing." 

— Cleveland Leader. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 



By Mrs, Ella Higginson 



FICTION 
riARlELLA, OF OUT-WEST 

" One of the very best examples of the new literature that is coming 
out of the West. , . . This story of life on the borders of Puget 
Sound has depth, variety, keen intelligence, and distinction. . . . 
As the story proceeds, it increases in interest, but it increases 
very much more in power." — The Boston Herald. 

FROM THE LAND OF THE SNOW PEARLS 

" Mrs, Higglnson's stories are wonderfully compact, and each has a 
strong, single situation. . . . There is a freshness of feeling 
about them and a vividness of style which give them reality." 

— The Outlook, New York. 

A FOREST ORCHID AND OTHER STORIES 

" Her touch is firm and clear; what she sees she sees vividly, and 
describes in direct, sincere English ; of what she feels she can 
give an equally lucid report." — The Tribune, New York. 

POEMS 
WHEN THE BIRDS GO NORTH AGAIN 

" The poetry of the volume is good, and its rare setting, amid the 
scenes and under the light of a sunset land, will constitute an 
attractive charm to many readers." — The Boston Transcript. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 



NUV 17 1903 



